


Broken Faith

by devilinthedetails



Category: PIERCE Tamora - Works, Tortall - Tamora Pierce
Genre: Deception, Fealty, Gen, Honor, Implication, Lies, Loyalty, Politics, Secrets, Treason, Truth, respect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-22
Updated: 2018-04-22
Packaged: 2019-04-26 03:12:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14393073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilinthedetails/pseuds/devilinthedetails
Summary: Lord Wyldon, King Jonathan, and the treason they dance around.





	Broken Faith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sigaloenta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigaloenta/gifts).



> Somewhat of a sequel to "Questions of Loyalty" but written to stand alone as well.

Broken Faith 

“I’m glad that you requested this meeting, my lord.” King Jonathan, more salt than pepper in his hair and beard, smiled at Lord Wyldon with the summer sun shining in his blue eyes as it did in the Olorun they overlooked from the balcony in which they sat, glittering goblets of wine in hand. “A man’s service to the Crown can be honored in ceremony, but it, like a fine wine refined by age, is best appreciated in a more personal, less formal setting.” 

Even with the sunlight baking his balding head, Wyldon shivered. Tomorrow he would kneel before his king in a public audience, resigning from his service to the Crown, abdicating his duties at last. As King Jonathan said, the Crown would wish to honor him for his decades of staunch service to the throne, but accepting such an accolade without admitting to his king the time he had broken faith with with the Crown and been derelict in his duty would have felt as false as the lie he had once written his king to protect Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan and her accomplices from charges of treason. 

“I didn’t ask for this meeting to seek praise.” Wyldon’s jaw tightened, since he had never sought recognition for doing his duty. It insulted his dignity to grovel for royal favor for doing what was expected of any knight of the realm with any sense of nobility. Merely fulfilling his obligations to his country was the only honor he required. “My intent is to set the record of my service straight by clarifying one clouded aspect of it.” 

“I will be happy to listen to whatever you wish to share with me, but first”—King Jonathan lifted his chalice in a toast to Lord Wyldon—“I would honor your service to the Crown and express my hope for your peaceful retirement after all the wars you’ve fought on the realm’s behalf.” 

“To the Crown I’ve served with all my strength.” Lord Wyldon raised his goblet and prayed that King Jonathan would see the truth reflected in his dark eyes: that no matter how much his king disagreed with his unwavering devotion to tradition and his conservative politics, serving the Crown and the country according to the Code of Chivalry as he understood it was all he had ever been trying to do. 

He sipped at his wine and tasted an undercurrent of pomegranate. Pomegranate, a Carthaki ambassador had once told him at some long forgotten social event, was the food of the dead. Take one nibble of the fruit or a single sip of its juice, and be trapped in the underworld with the ghosts of uneasy souls for eternity. 

Wyldon shook his head to clear it of this eerie notion and to better consider his strategy. With Prince Roald present in Corus for the great congress that would enfold in a couple of days and accumulating more power as his parents aged, Wyldon could have negotiated with him. Many conservatives would have, since the Crown Prince was a natural diplomat more disposed to honoring custom than offending it and had a knack for nodding if not in agreement than at least understanding, but Wyldon had developed a relationship of trust and respect that went beyond political disputes with the king, whom he had wronged and to whom he must make his apology.

Besides, part of Wyldon whispered that King Jonathan, for all his progressive peculiarities, was a pragmatist who could be persuaded to look away from wrongdoing if it benefited him to do so, while Prince Roald, fair to a fault, would never want to seem to favor friends when it came to a matter of justice. Perhaps having a king who was quick to step outside the rulebook would finally be advantageous to Wyldon if he could force his obstinate lips to move. 

Drawing courage from another drink of wine, Wyldon went on, “My respect for you, Your Majesty, and my own integrity demand that I be forthright with you about an instance where I was derelict in my duty and broke faith with the Crown provided I have your assurance that nobody under my command at the time of my offense will face royal repercussions because of my words here. I will, of course, accept any royal punishment for myself and on their behalf.” 

Honor compelled Wyldon to confess his crime but he had a duty to those who had served beneath him—the squire who had become his son-in-law a year ago, a bond that was supposed to be as thick as blood; the lady knight he had to support to atone for unfairly opposing her entrance to page training; and all those who had slipped into Scanra behind enemy lines to destroy the mage who made the worst monsters Wyldon could imagine—in addition and in opposition to his loyalty to the Crown. Indeed it was this commitment to those beneath him that had led him to lie to his king—to break his oath to the Crown. 

King Jonathan could have pointed out—and Wyldon wouldn’t have blamed him if he did—that Wyldon didn’t have the high ground and so wasn’t in a position to negotiate such terms, but instead he traced the rim of his chalice with a contemplative finger. “I believe that any treachery of which you would be guilty, my lord, would transpire more in your mind than in your deeds, but you have my vow that I won’t punish anyone who served under you for anything you reveal to me now.” 

“I thank you for your clemency to those who served under me, sire.” Wyldon bowed his head in gesture that contained both gratitude and shame. “Your Majesty will remember a report where I implied that I authorized a covert operation into Scanra under Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan to rescue refugees and defeat Blayce.” 

“Implications can be slippery as snakes but they do allow us to reach understandings about things we could never say aloud. They are as convenient as they are dangerous.” King Jonathan’s unblinking gaze suggested that he had known since Wyldon sent his letter that Wyldon had never approved an undercover expedition to Scanra. “It isn’t a treason to imply something that may not be strictly accurate to your king. If it were, the entire court would be beheaded in a week.” 

“I misled you.” Wyldon scratched at the shoulder a hurrock had ravaged so many years ago in an instinctual need to remind himself of how much he had sacrificed in flesh and blood for the royal family. “I deliberately withheld information so you would reach a false conclusion, which is as dishonorable as lying.” 

“You didn’t lead me anywhere I didn’t want to go, Lord Wyldon.” King Jonathan’s lips quirked wryly. “I can spot the truth through implication even if there are occasions where it pleases me not to do so.” 

“I understand if you no longer wish to honor me tomorrow.” Wyldon could feel the sweat soaking his spine in the breeze blowing off the Olorun, rippling his tunic and forming goosebumps on his arms. The foundation of his relationship with King Jonathan was the king’s esteem for Wyldon’s unimpeachable honor, which Wyldon had now blackened forever by his own admittance of deceit. “I’ve disgraced myself, and I know you will never look upon me with the same respect ever again because I’ve misled you.” 

“I suspected the truth ever since I received your letter.” King Jonathan pinched his forehead, and Wyldon could only see how battered they both were after a lifetime of battles where sometimes they had stood on the same side and sometimes they had stared each other down from hostile battlements. “I thank you for your honesty, my lord, as well as for the loyalty and friendship you’ve shown to Lady Knight Keladry of Mindelan and the many others you’ve trained. You have been faithful not only to the realm but to them.” 

“I thank you for your mercy, Your Majesty.” Such words were harder, sounding like stones in Wyldon’s mouth, when they were uttered for his own sake rather than on behalf of those who had served beneath him, because he believed they deserved clemency, but he didn’t imagine that he had earned mercy. He had expected to carry the condemnation of his betrayal to his grave, yet his king had removed the weight with a single sentence. King Jonathan had forgiven him. Now perhaps he could absolve himself of his lie and find peace in his retirement.


End file.
